by Green, Jeri
The Internet told her that star anise was an important magical herb that was used in death and dying rituals. Did Button foresee someone’s death or even his own?
It was also a good luck talisman, but it hadn’t been so good for Button.
It could be used to awaken and increase psychic powers.
Was she missing something?
Her inner voice said she must investigate. Her common sense said to leave it alone.
Button was an old man. He had lived a long life. His time on this Earth was over. He was dead. Kaput. The end. That’s it. Let moldering bones lie peacefully in their eternal resting place. That’s what common sense kept repeating to her.
But sometimes, you simply had to overrule common sense. Hadley couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t one of those times.
Button Dudley was going to be buried at Memorial Gardens. Hadley had found out from Beanie. Beanie told her that Button was going to be interred in a grave not far from her dearly departed husband, Harry. If Button was involved in some kind of evil magic, Hadley wondered, would his spirit wreak havoc with Harry’s, now that both men inhabited the same other-worldly realm?
Harry was one of the good guys, the ones who wore the white ten-gallon hats. Not that Harry had ever owned a ten-gallon hat, but he would have looked at home in one, just the same.
Hadley didn’t know much about Button Dudley. Would he have worn a black, gray, or white hat? Too late to know now.
Why was Button being buried in the town’s cemetery?
And why was she obsessing about it, anyway?
Dead men tell no tales. No lies. Nothing.
If they did, would she listen? Doubtful. She’d probably be high-tailing it in the opposite direction as fast as her feet could take her. Too scared to hear what they had to say.
Was she making a mountain out of a mole hill because she was bored and needed something to occupy her mind? Probably.
She had to admit that she’d been feeling a bit stir crazy since she and Beanie had finished cleaning out Eustian Singlepenny’s trash-filled house. That had been a monumental task, but it had kept her busy and occupied. She and Beanie had done it. Yes, they had. That job had been finished weeks ago. Her life had settled back into a rather quiet routine.
Quiet equals boring, she reminded herself.
She had to admit, she’d enjoyed cleaning out that house. Not that it wasn’t dirty, back-breaking work. But it had been like a treasure hunt. Every day had brought something new. The unexpected became a common occurrence when you were dealing with someone else’s collection of treasured things. Multiply that by a gazillion-million when that person turned out to be a hoarder.
Every day had brought something new.
In a different kind of way.
No big, priceless treasure was uncovered. Only dusty junk. But it was amazing to see what one man had considered important enough to fill his house with from floor to ceiling. Old papers. Old books. Stuff she would have tossed in the dump in a Tennessee minute, Eustian had dragged home and feathered his nest with.
And she missed seeing Beanie. He was a hard worker and good company.
He was also a lot of fun.
Beanie was a pal that would follow her to the Creamery for an ice cream soda at a split-second’s notice. Hadley smiled. Even while working like a dog, she had put on at least ten pounds thanks to those mouthwatering goodies. And the chocolate sundaes at the Creamery weren’t shabby, either.
Good junk food. Sweet-tooth heaven. Bad for the thighs, but good for the soul.
Oh, she still ran into Beanie occasionally downtown. But it wasn’t like those days of packing up sacks of snacks and grabbing her friend and heading off to a job that filled her days with purpose.
She wondered if Beanie wouldn’t like a big batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She could make him some with pecans and another batch with English walnuts. There might be some dates in the pantry.
It might be worth a little “cleaning-out-treasure-hunt” of her own to see what was lurking in the back corners of that little room. No telling what forgotten ingredient she might find that would be just the thing to make her old recipe zing.
She loved to experiment. And Beanie was the perfect one to bake for. He loved anything Hadley made. The flops and the wonderful successes. Beanie’s taste buds appreciated them all. He dove into a fallen cake like it was manna from heaven. Looks weren’t important to Beanie. Taste was all that mattered. It made no difference what she took him.
Store-bought, too, for that matter, was just as good to Beanie.
He was one man who was easy to please when it came to food. She opened the pantry and began an earnest search for everything she might need to make the perfect batch of cookies.
It filled her with energy, not to mention, it took her mind off the troubling message that someone had left Lou Edna. And Lou Edna was shook up. She took the omen seriously. Bad business. Any way you sliced it.
It was a nasty thing to do, Hadley decided, to anyone.
Chapter Twelve
“Taste this,” Hadley said, shoving a glass in front of Maury.
Maury swallowed a swig and started coughing.
“Tastes awful,” said Maury. “What is it?”
“Vinegar lemonade,” said Hadley. “Must need more sugar.”
“Where in the world did you get that recipe?” Maury asked.
“Off the Web,” said Hadley. “It’s just vinegar and sugar and water. Something the pioneers drank.”
“The Donner party ate each other,” said Maury, “but that doesn’t mean I want to pick somethin’ off their menu.”
Hadley took a sip behind Maury. She puckered up her lips.
“Or maybe I added too much vinegar. Maybe my glass is too small.”
“Maybe you should lay off the old-timey recipes, Sis.”
“I was going to try some cornmeal mush, but I’ve ran out of lard.”
“Try using olive oil. Not as tasty but twice as healthy.”
“Oh, pooh,” said Hadley. “I could try some Corn Dodgers, if I could remember where I put my Dutch oven.”
“If it’s in the attic,” said Maury, “forget it. That’s just too much sugar for a cent to pull those steps down and go off on a gallivant in that dark dungeon.”
“It’s not as bad as that, Maury,” Hadley said. “Are you sure you’re not describing your attic?”
“Maybe.”
“How ‘bout some Black Pudding? All it has in it is eggs, flour, cinnamon, molasses, and a few other spices.”
“And vinegar. My throat still feels like it was scalded and left to dry in the hot sun.”
“You’re just too sensitive. Kid Pie sounds interesting.”
“Who’s kids are you planning on cooking?”
“Nobody’s. It calls for goat. I don’t think Pixies stocks goat.”
“Nah. Skip’s not mentioned that as new items he’s had to stock.”
“Here’s a roast recipe that uses coffee,” said Hadley.
“Well,” said Maury, “guess I know what Bill and I will be having next week.”
“I’ll buy a small roast and try it out first,” said Hadley, “before I spring it on you and Bill. I can always count on Beanie to help me eat the leftovers. Even if they don’t come up to house standards.”
“That man is a human garbage disposal,” said Maury.
“Good thing,” said Hadley. “Keeps good food out of the dump.”
“And not so good food,” said Maury.
“It’s a pretty simple recipe,” said Hadley. “Onions and garlic and vinegar. You marinate that for 48 hours and then simmer in the old Dutch Oven in a couple of cups of strong coffee for about six hours.”
“Don’t hurt yourself rummaging around up there,” said Maury.
“I won’t,” said Hadley. “Who knows? I might uncover another treasure like Harry’s video cam up there.”
“Or you might break your neck stumbling over old junk,” said M
aury.
“I’ll let you know if the coffee roast is on the menu next week,” said Hadley.
“Later, Sis,” Maury said.
* * *
Hadley took some goodies and packed them in her car. She took off down the road toward town, watching as she drove for any sign of her friend, Beanie. She spied him walking down the sidewalk outside of Lou Edna’s Beauty Boutique and pulled over to the curb. She leaned over to the passenger side and rolled down the window.
“Hey, there. How’s the finger, Bean?” Hadley asked.
“It’s as right as rain, Hadley,” Beanie said. “I’d really like to stay and talk, but I’m in kind of a hurry.”
“Where you going?”
“I gotta get down to the cemetery. Harvey sent word for me to come. Mr. Dudley’s body’s back from his autopsy. Harvey wants to get the hole dug quick. Harvey wants everything ready for when he has Mr. Dudley resting in his coffin. He told me he wants Mr. Dudley’s goin’ away to be as smooth as silk.”
“You want a lift?”
“Sure,” said Beanie. “Gosh, it smells good in here. Like a bakery.”
“Oh,” said Hadley, “I almost forgot. I made some cookies for you. Three batches. Originally, I was only going to make two, but my dump cooking got the best of me, and before I knew it, I’d dumped in enough ingredients for an extra batch of cookies.”
“Thanks, Hadley,” said Beanie. “You know me. When it comes to anything you cook, too much is just about the right amount.”
“I know, Bean,” Hadley said. “I can always count on you to lick the plate clean no matter what I’m serving.”
“Me and Onus are good plate lickers.” “Well, Onus is a persnickety, old cuss. I really wish he’d take some lessons from you. Not be such a picky eater, you know what I mean?”
“I can learn him plate-lickin’ if you want me to, Hadley.”
“I was thinking more in the lines of being grateful for what’s on your plate. I think I’ll just have to put up with Onus’ not quite licking the plate clean. He puts up with a lot from me, you know.”
“If you say so, Hadley,” Beanie said.
“What time is the funeral service,” said Hadley.
“Harvey said it’s going to be tonight at midnight,” said Beanie.
“Midnight!”
“Yeah. I ain’t too happy with the time, neither. I hope I don’t fall asleep and fall into that hole. You know? I just don’t know if I will be able to keep my eyes open.”
“Is Button’s service private?”
“No. Harvey didn’t say it was. Harvey is always good to tell me if it is ’cause he knows I won’t mention nobody’s service if he’s told me that. Private means private, Hadley. No extra mourners allowed but the privates.”
“Well, if it’s not private, I’d like to come,” said Hadley. “I’m certainly not one of the privates, but if it’s public, I know I can call myself one of the publics.”
“It’s public,” Beanie said, “so you can come because you are publics.”
“Good,” said Hadley. “Here we are. I want to come and give you moral support, Beanie.”
“Do my morals need support, Hadley?” Beanie asked. “I didn’t know they were sagging. Miltie Pearl was talkin’ to Mona Leone Yuntz the other day about her saggin’ you-ter-rines. What’s a you-ter-rine?
Miltie Pearl was just ‘a whining to Mona Leone that havin’ 16 youngins had, let me see, how did Miltie Pearl put that? Oh, I know! Them 16 youngins done a number on her. Her you-ter-rine prolapse was the worst! Thing sagged plum to her ankles. I looked, Hadley. I don’t see nothing between her ankles. They’re right big ’n’ meaty, her ankles are. But that’s all.”
“Did Miltie Pearl see you standing near them, Beanie?” Hadley asked.
“Oh, yeah,” said Beanie. “Mona Leone did, too. They’re like most people, Hadley. They ignore me like I ain’t there.”
“Well,” Hadley said, “don’t trouble yourself over those two. Mona Leone and Miltie Pearl had no business discussing women’s matters in front of you like that. Miltie Pearl knows what causes babies to be born. She’s had 16 times the practice of most women.”
“That does make me feel better,” Beanie said.
“It does,” Hadley said.
“Your you-ter-rines must not need no support,” Beanie said. “Even I know what makes babies, and you and Harry didn’t have none. Your you-ter-rines must be tight as Dick’s hat band.”
“We tried, Beanie. We were just not blessed with children,” Hadley said, “but you’re right. My you-ter-rines are just fine.
“And so are your morals.
“I just wanted to show up at Button’s service to make sure you stay awake. It wouldn’t do for one of my best friends to close his eyelids and wake up in Button’s grave.”
“Thanks, Hadley,” Beanie said. “It would be like sticking six kids in a bunk bed. Crowded wouldn’t begin to describe it.”
“Exactly,” said Hadley.
Chapter Thirteen
A graveyard at midnight is not exactly a warm and welcoming place. Shadows abound and sounds seem magnified in the presence of the dead. The air is filled with a sinister feeling. The darkness has a palpable, eerie quality.
Something is coming.
Something is waiting.
Something is watching.
That something may or may not be human.
It is a feeling that cannot be shaken off in a cemetery in the late hours of the night.
A small crowd had gathered in the gloom. They stood silently by the gravesite. Coy Noel and Dee Dee Noble were there. So was Florine Aurelia and Elda Mandy. All the old timers had come down from the hills to pay their last respects to Button Dudley. How did they get here, Hadley wondered, on such short notice. It wasn’t as if all these old folks were wired to the Internet or had phones. Most of these people didn’t have indoor plumbing or even electricity.
It was another of life’s inexplicable mysteries.
Granny Dilcie and one of the Elanor twins were there. Hadley didn’t know which one. Impossible to know, unless you asked her. They were all dressed in black. Solemn men in black suits. Somber women in long, flowing black dresses. Black bonnets and black hats. Black brograns and sturdy work shoes. They stood quietly with their hands folded in front of them. Waiting. Waiting.
The scene was like something out of a Shakespearian play. The night was as dark as ink. The cool winds whipped off the mountains, chilling to the bone. Each old timer held a burning torch, and the light from the end of their wooden firebrands flickered in the infinite obscurity of the sky above them. The small knot of mourners stood in a circle around the hole where Button’s coffin rested.
It was a full moon night, but the heavy cloud cover dimmed any light the moon cast down upon the gathering. The illumination from the torches danced in the gloom throwing macabre shadows on their faces.
“Lou Edna!” Hadley whispered. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“I was at that festival, too! Remember?” Lou Edna said. “I saw Button Dudley drop dead at your feet. And of course, I told everybody who came into the shop every gruesome detail that I could remember. Even some I couldn’t. I just mixed up everything I saw with everything everybody else was telling me and let ’er rip, like I always do.
“I been thinkin’ about it. That must be why somebody is mad at me. Something I’ve said has rankled somebody’s feathers. You know, spreadin’ all that gossip is what I think caused someone to go to such drastic measures. It’s the only reason I can come up with. But, I’m takin’ that curse seriously, Hadley. I done what I needed to do to unhex myself.
“I peed on a brick and tossed it into the dump. Drove all the way out there yesterday. All by myself. I hate that place. Even when it’s cold, that site stinks like all get out. There was nobody out there but me ’n’ Booger Ray.
“He’s ran that dump for a coon’s age. Still looks the same. Must be something in the water out there that’s lik
e a fountain of youth. Garbage ginger ale. Who knows? The stink’s enough to pull every wrinkle out of your skin. Like this.”
Lou Edna pulled back her skin at the temples and grimaced.
“Anyway, I wanted that brick located as far from my house as possible and in a spot where it belonged. The hex is broken. I can breathe easier. I heard that they were buryin’ Button, tonight. I just had to come ’n’ see who showed up.
“Just look!
Why, it’s a who’s who of the Ancients, Hadley. Well, except that Elanor twin. She’s the only one in the bunch who’s blood ain’t sludge and who ain’t seen 75 years old about 75 years ago! Huh! Sure ain’t many of them left though, is it?”
“I wouldn’t joke about them, Lou Edna,” said Hadley. “They’re the elders of these mountains. The knowledge of the generations past is in their keeping. Maybe the Elanor twin is their chosen one. Who knows? Or maybe, she’s just making sure Granny Dilcie gets back home okay. Boy, it’s a rough night out. Not fit for man or beast. That wind cuts right through you.”
“Yeah, it does. Glad I layered up before I stepped out of the house. Where’s the preacher?” Lou Edna asked.
“I don’t know,” said Hadley.
There wasn’t one.
Was Button an atheist? Impossible to know. He was a recluse, a bit of an outcast. He came into town once in a blue moon, but he never had much to do with anyone. He came, picked up whatever supplies he needed, and then disappeared back into the hills again.
Hadley could not remember one instance of Granny Dilcie talking about Button. Strange, she thought, for Granny seemed to know and talk about so many of her other neighbors.
It was as if Button Dudley was only a shadow in the community and not a real person. Did he love his privacy at all costs? Was too much privacy a bad thing? Had he committed some act that banished him from the elders, done something so long ago that only they would remember?
Hadley didn’t know.
Only the Ancients and Beanie, Lou Edna and Hadley, and a couple of other brave souls had come out at midnight to bury the dead old man who had come screaming down the street like demons were biting at his heels.
